One in twenty. Four years younger.
Someone listens to the same music as me.
He’s a dude, and I’m a dude, so …
Just to be a part is a tremendous thing.

Though I’d be cool. And could do it.
Heaven forbid I get caught in some rat race.
The rim of my glass pressing against my nose.
The caveat. Like it or hate it.

Maturity.
Human repellent.
Uncrushable hope.
My fingers feel like they’re spaghetti: I’m on acid.

Though the east blows softly
and there is a language to be spoken
if I could only make you give a fuck.

Sobriety is a piss soaked mattress.
Awoken from a beautiful dream.
Shell shocked into brutal reality.